My Noble Knight (2 page)

Or did they? A tingle of excitement shot up her spine. She grabbed Michael’s arm and backed out of the tent, pulling the young boy with her. “Help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“Help me get into the armor.”

Michael stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh no!” He shook his head and held out his hands in front of him to ward her off. “Colin would quarter me!”

Layne spun on him. “I can’t do it alone. It’s our only chance!”

Michael shook his head and crossed his arms, glaring at her.

She grabbed his tunic front and shoved her face close to his. “If you don’t do it, I’ll tell Colin who broke his bow.”

Michael’s mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes I would. Help me, Michael. We don’t have a lot of time.”

By the time they had gotten her into Frances’s armor, appropriately padding it so it fit, the call was going out the second time for Sir Frances Fletcher. She would have been quicker, but she had to bind her breasts. It was lucky Frances was the same height she was. She had tried his armor on before, secretly many times, so she knew all the places where it was loose. Michael helped her stuff padding into those areas so she should move efficiently in the metal shell that now encased her.

She didn’t know if it was just desperation fueling her strength or forbidden excitement over what she was about to do raising her energy, but the armor felt lighter than she remembered. She raised her arm up and down, re-acquainting herself with the feel of the steel.

She chose to use her own horse rather than his. She had never been able to fully control Frances’s destrier. The beast was just too big. Her own stallion, Angel, was used to her movements and her direction. She thought it was a better choice. She and Michael had quickly pulled the caparison off of Frances’s horse and laid the cloth over Angel’s back. The thick fabric would offer good protection to Angel’s body during the joust. It was a bit too large for her horse, but it would have to do.

She entered the field to sporadic applause and a few jeering shouts. Michael jogged behind her, acting as her squire. The crowd of people gathered around the field clearly didn’t like that she was late. And she could tell by the way Griffin’s horse paced impatiently at the other end of the field he was not pleased either.

That’s all right. She’d give them a show they wouldn’t forget. True, she had never been a participant in a real joust before, anyone who was not a knight was not allowed to participate, but she was confident enough in her abilities. She had practiced dozens of times on her own against quintains and straw dummies when no one else was around. She lifted her chin in defiance, even though she knew no one could see the movement behind the closed visor that covered her face.

As she maneuvered Angel to her side of the field, she passed Griffin. Griffin Wolfe. He had unhorsed all he stood against. This was no man of straw. Far from it. He looked like a massive mountain of glistening metal as he sat tall in his saddle. Her brothers had always told her jousting was dangerous. They would only practice their swordplay with her. And now, as she sat on her horse in the field of honor, her heart beating madly in her chest, sweat running from her brow, she had to concur with them. This could turn out to be dangerous indeed.

Griffin’s horse pranced up to his squire at the other end of the yard.

All she needed to do was find his weak spot. Just one flaw. She knew she couldn’t beat him with strength. She would have to beat him with speed and angles. Layne licked her lips beneath the helmet. The helmet was slightly too big for her, but she had stuck cloth into the top so it fit better. It barely jostled at all when she moved her head.

There was no going back now. She urged Angel forward with a slight kick. Luckily, Frances had used Angel before to joust in other tournaments when his horse had taken ill so the noise and ruckus from the spectators didn’t spook Angel.

Michael handed her the lance with a slight shake of his head. She narrowed her eyes at him, repeating the silent threat that she would tell Colin about the bow, if it came to that. But she knew Michael would do his part. It was too late for him to turn back.

She whirled Angel about and spurred him hard. The sound of the crowd died about her, muffled by the helmet and the thunder of Angel’s hooves. Her breathing was loud in her ears. She concentrated on Wolfe. Through the thin slit in her visor, she saw him closing on her, the lance held firm in his arm, the tip pointed directly at her. She lowered her own lance.

At the last moment, Angel balked and the lances missed completely.

They rounded the ends of the field and cantered back to their sides. Wolfe passed within two feet of her. He really was an excellent rider. His control of his steed was excellent. But she was better.

What was wrong with Angel? Layne patted his neck reassuringly. Angel snorted and tossed his head. “Don’t you start,” Layne whispered to him. “I can do this. No one need know.”

Michael handed her the lance, still shaking his head.

Layne grimaced. It wasn’t enough she was facing the best knight she had ever seen in her very first joust, but no one had faith in her. Not Michael. Not even her horse. Well, she would show them. She would show them all!

She rounded Angel, the lance held up. It was easier to control Angel with the lance out of the way. Once Angel fell into rhythm, Layne lowered the lance, tucking it beneath her arm. She leaned forward, racing down the list.

Wolfe rounded the tilt barrier and charged forward.

At the last moment, Layne leaned away from his lance, making him miss completely. She held her lance firm, aimed directly at him. It struck his shoulder. The impact jarred her arm, sending sharp tingles through her limb, and she dropped the lance.

The two horses sped past each other.

She opened and closed her hand again and again to get the blood flowing into her limb and force the numb feeling to fade. She had struck him! Jubilant, she turned to look at him down the field. He had thrown up his faceplate to stare at her.

The crowd around them was silent in shock.

She cantered Angel down the field, passing Wolfe. His startling blue eyes were locked on her, his jaw tight. Maybe hitting him wasn’t such a good idea.

As she reached the end of the field where Michael stood, she glanced into the audience and almost fell off Angel. Standing at the fence with his arms crossed was Colin. His gaze bore into her with the promise of punishment. Severe punishment.

Even with trepidation snaking its way up her spine, Layne couldn’t stop. She wanted this opportunity. She had always wanted to joust, but it had been forbidden to her. This was her only time to try it. The opportunity had presented itself to her and she had seized it. And her family needed her to win! She couldn’t back out now.

She turned to look at Wolfe. He had reached the other side and stretched out his hand for his lance.

Layne held out her hand and Michael handed her the lance, whispering, “You are in so much trouble.”

Layne glared at him, but said nothing as she cradled the lance. She turned away from her younger brother and yanked the reins. Angel reared slightly before starting off down the field. Layne lowered her lance, focusing on Wolfe. He was angry now. She had seen it in his face. He would make a mistake. Or he would knock her silly. Either way, she had to be alert. As they closed, she saw an opening. He had taken off his gloves. She could hit him in the hand! She aimed the lance at his unprotected hand.

But then she hesitated. She could seriously hurt him, perhaps injure him so severely he would never joust again. She could never do that to a knight. She turned the lance away at the last moment. It was unchivalrous to do something like that.

His lance struck her a light blow. She saw his plan. She was so intent on his hand that she didn’t see him turn the lance in at the last moment. Only by moving her lance did she bump his and cause the glancing blow instead a full unhorsing.

She tossed the lance down. He was clever, she would give him that. She had noticed something else, too. Something she bet the others never saw. It was just a minor mistake. He held the lance slightly tilted to the inside until he was very close. Then he adjusted his aim. It was not necessarily a flaw in his technique, but it was something she might be able to take advantage of.

As they moved past each other, crossing to the other side of the field, she could see his blue eyes through the visor of his helmet. She couldn’t read the emotion and they passed before she could figure out what it was.

She rounded the field, her gaze on Wolfe. She did her best to ignore Colin’s glare of fury, forcing herself to concentrate on the immediate task at hand. She had an idea that would play on the subtle weakness she saw in Wolfe’s technique. It was a dangerous move, but if she was right, she would unhorse him. And win. It was a chance she had to take.

She took the lance from Michael and spurred Angel. Through the small slit in her visor she watched Wolfe charge toward her. He sat low in the saddle, leaning over his horse’s head. Like she had seen him do before, he held his lance aimed toward the inside.

She matched his movement. Let him think she thought he was aiming for her stomach.

They raced toward each other, Layne’s breath coming in small huffs matching the thundering pace in her horse’s steps. Wait, she told herself. Don’t move the lance. Wait until he does. Then move and aim for his stomach.

He drew closer and still Wolfe did not move the lance.

Layne forced herself to wait when every instinct was telling her to protect herself, not to leave herself so wide open.

The horses thundered closer. The distant roar of the crowd sounded like the wind in her ears. Her heart hammered hard in her chest.

At the last moment, she saw Wolfe shift his lance. Immediately, she followed suit and then closed her eyes, preparing for the impact. The force of the collision was brutal, slamming into her shoulder with enough force to spin her around in a complete circle, flinging her from the saddle. She landed hard on her back on the dirt ground.

She didn’t know how long she lay there staring at the sky. It was blue with no clouds. Just simply blue. Slowly and groggily, noise filtered into her senses. A horse whinnied somewhere. Birds chirped. The realization she wasn’t on Angel seeped into her mind.

Unhorsed. She had been unhorsed.

With a groan, she boosted herself onto her elbow. Aches exploded to life all over her body. Her left shoulder was numb and throbbed with explosive pain. She mentally took stock of her body. Her shoulder and her pride hurt the worst. Her back was sore, from the fall she guessed, but the pain was tolerable.

She slowly sat up.

Unhorsed. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She would never hear the end of this from her brothers. They would tell her that was why women did not joust. Now, her head hurt, too. She looked around.

For the first time she noticed the strange silence that had settled over the field. Everyone just stared. All the villagers leaning over the fence, all the nobles in the grandstands, all the knights, all the squires, they all just stared.

Layne climbed to her feet. A gasp came from the crowd. But it wasn’t accompanied by applause. Something wasn’t right. Her shoulder ached. She couldn’t move her left arm; it was completely numb. A wave of light-headedness fell over her and she hesitated a moment, wanting to sit back down. She blinked, forcing the sensation away. She spotted Angel a few yards away, the horse standing still, watching her. She turned. Michael stood near Colin, both staring at her with an open mouthed expression. They probably thought she was hurt. She should wave or something…

That’s when she spotted the other horse, Wolfe’s horse at the end of the field where Michael was.

The horse was riderless!

Shocked, Layne spun, searching the dusty field for Wolfe. Sunlight reflected off of armor in the dirt of the field of honor. Wolfe lay on the ground.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. For a moment, she stared like everyone else. He was unhorsed! He was lying on the ground. Unhorsed. By her!

She started toward him in disbelief. Was he hurt? Had she harmed him?

Michael raced up beside her, whispering, “Colin said let him be. He said to get out of the field of honor.”

Layne still couldn’t believe she had unhorsed Griffin Wolfe! No one else had done it! “Get me a sword.”

“Layne,” Michael begged.

She glared at him. “Sword!” She could beat him! Didn’t they understand? She could win!

Michael’s lips thinned and he reluctantly handed her a sword.

Frances’s sword was heavy and her arms ached with the effort to hold it. She had to use both of her hands. The tip of the sword dragged in the dirt for a moment before she was able to bring it up. Her left shoulder shrieked in agony, but she fought back the pain as she approached Wolfe. The nearness of victory deadened any agony. He still did not rise to defend himself.

She stood over him for a moment, the sword held out. Her left shoulder throbbed.

Nothing. No movement. She reached out with the sword and flicked up his visor.